Today, Tomorrow and the Next
by sevenimpossiblethings
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is famous in all of Britain, but Molly Hooper knew him before all of the fame and the attention. Each chapter tells the story of a day in a different year of Molly and Sherlock's lives. Sherlolly
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 _You've always counted and I've always trusted you._ The words echoed in Molly Hooper's head, like a broken record. She was conflicted over how she felt about the words, but they refused to go away until she made a decision, much like a broken record would keep playing until the listener could decide whether they would keep it for sentiment, a useless momento, or toss it as rubbish, having decided to move on and play a new song. To move on or not. Part of her yelled 'yes.' All those years, he had ignored her, treated her as if she was a silly, naive girl, too stuck within her own idealisms to see the world in its true form. The other part of her, the part that admired him, the part of her that felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach when he entered the room and stumbled on her words when they spoke, that part of her was not as loud as its rival. It started as a low whisper but steadily grew louder, calling out in all its hopefulness that Sherlock had meant every word that he said. That he had always trusted her and perhaps she just hadn't seen it.

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Chapter 1

"I win!" Molly proclaimed proudly. At twelve years old, winning a footrace to the top of the hill was a grand achievement for her.

"Sherlock? I won!"

Sherlock ambled up the hill, trying to disguise the fact that he was out of breath by putting on the facade of nonchalance.

"Oh? I wasn't trying my best anyways."

"You always try your best, Sherlock," Molly objected. "That's why you're so good at everything."

Sherlock shrugged, missing the obvious comment that Molly had given him.

"Mycroft says you're precocious."

"Did he mean that as a compliment?"

"I think it's a compliment." It wasn't an answer to Sherlock's question, just an unintentional demonstration of Molly's general admiration for Sherlock's intelligence. It was an expression of awe that she usually tried not to show too blatantly; if she did, it would certainly get to Sherlock's big ego, but being only twelve, keeping the awe in check was sometimes difficult.

"Thanks," Sherlock replied. Though I'm sure Mycroft didn't mean it as a compliment. Why do you suppose he's so annoying?"

Molly shrugged. She personally didn't find Mycroft annoying, but then again, feeling annoyance wasn't in her nature. Rivalries and jealousy, she didn't spend too much time thinking about those things, to her, they were like the falling leaves of autumn, present, but too common for her to take much notice of. "I don't think Mycroft is very annoying…" She glanced over at Sherlock to see him with a distant expression on his face.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Were you listening?"

"Umm, no." He added a quick "sorry" as an afterthought.

Molly nodded, accepting his apology. She had the acute ability to forgive easily, it stemmed partly from the simple kindness that was common in children and partly from her friendship were Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking about?" It was amusing for Molly to hear about Sherlock's thoughts, most of which involved puzzles and codes, which she found fascinating, even if most of the things that Sherlock said were near incomprehensible to any twelve year old who wasn't as precocious as him.

"Puzzles," he answered with a distracted wave of his hand. "A riddle Mycroft told me yesterday."

"Is that what you're going to do when you grow up? Solve riddles?"

Sherlock gave Molly a puzzled look, as if what she had just said was silly. In his mind, he was already grown up. "Maybe. But I can't see what I could do solving riddles."

"You could be a detective."

"For who? The police would need my help. I remember the time Redbeard got lost in the woods, they needed my help to bring him home."

Molly giggled to herself. She had been there for the event and found it funny that Sherlock had neglected to say it was more Mycroft's help they needed. "But the police don't usually go to private detectives for help."

"Well, they'd ask me. They'd need to, with all the mistakes they're always making. But, I can't call myself a private detective."

"A consulting detective. You could call yourself a consulting detective."

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 **A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for checking out this story! I hope you enjoyed it and please review and let me what you thought because I would love to hear all your opinions! Thank you again!  
** **-sevenimpossiblethings**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Happy Birthday Molly! Thirteen already!"

Molly tried not to wear an awkward expression on her face as her parents took pictures on the antique blue camera that was usually kept on the dusty mantle of their house, of her and her large vanilla birthday cake .

"Do you think Mycroft and Sherlock are coming soon?" Molly asked Eloise, her sister.

Molly was eager to for the only two guests to her party to arrive. Her two guests also happened to be her only two friends; living in the isolated countryside didn't exactly provide too many companions.

"I'm sure they'll be here soon," Eloise reassured.

Molly sighed and sat down on the ground, observing the presents she had received that morning. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, a loud clanging noise, and Molly jumped to her feet.

"I'll get it!" she announced to no one in particular.

When she finally reached the door, she swung it open, only to find Mycroft, dressed in his best Sunday clothes, standing alone on the doorstep. Forgetting her manners for the moment, without greeting Mycroft, Molly immediately asked, "Where's Sherlock?"

Mycroft shifted his feet and looked down. "He, ah-couldn't be here today... not feeling well," he mumbled. "He sent his present though." Mycroft handed Molly a neatly wrapped gift that had a card that was clearly not written in Sherlock's scrawling handwriting.

Molly could hardly conceal her disappointment and she could almost feel herself slouching from it. Sherlock not at her birthday? The notion itself was as disheartening as could be for her.

Molly's birthday celebration, which she had meticulously planned for weeks, was drab and boring without her closest friend in attendance. The cake tasted less sweet and the gifts, although lovely, seemed unremarkable to Molly. When the party was over, Molly surveyed the scene around her. Mycroft, no doubt instructed by his parents, stayed to help her family clean up after the party. Looking at the room with the cake tray and the wrapping paper for the opened gifts that sat crumpled on the ground, Molly was filled with the sad, empty feeling that was characteristic of the end of a party, especially when the party didn't live up to expectations. It was the realization that an event that had been looked forward to for weeks with anticipation was now over and so was the excitement.

Seeing Molly in her disappointed state that was no doubt, at least mostly caused by Sherlock's absence, Mycroft remarked to Molly that perhaps, Sherlock would be feeling well enough to have a visit from her. Mycroft guessed that Sherlock would not be happy about the invitation, he was in a dejected mood that day, but Molly's instantly cheered expression reassured him that he had done the right thing. It was the least he could do to cheer her up on her birthday.

Mycroft and Molly walked the short distance towards the Holmes house and entered through the front door which was decorated with a wreath and flowers on both sides.

Mycroft led Molly through the house into the living room where Sherlock sat on the carpeted floor next to his dog, Redbeard.

At their arrival, Sherlock looked up and asked, "What are you two doing here?"

Mycroft glanced at him with a stern expression and Molly shifted her feet uncomfortably. "I'll leave you two to talk," Mycroft said. "Molly wanted to visit you."

Molly wanted to interrupt and say that in fact, she had been invited to come, but Mycroft was already walking away. She walked quietly towards Sherlock and sat down next to him and his dog.

"Is Redbeard okay?" she asked gently.

Sherlock shook his head silently and went back to petting the dog's head. "I'm… sorry I missed your birthday."

"That's alright, I didn't mind." It was a lie, but Molly knew now wasn't the time to complain or whine. She pushed her own disappointment aside for the sake of Sherlock. After all, comforting him was the right thing to do at the moment.

She noticed that there were tiny tears coming out of Sherlock's green eyes, which he quickly wiped away as soon as he noticed her looking at him. "I'm fine," he tried to stay as best as possible without his voice breaking.

Molly nodded. "I know," she said softly. Not knowing how else to help her friend, she gently placed her hand on Sherlock's arm and just sat there to keep him company, because 'alone' was the worst thing that could happen to a person.

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 **A/N: Hi everyone! Hope you liked this chapter and thanks for reading! Also, thank you to those who have shown interest in the story, it means a lot. The next chapter will be coming soon! For chapter 3, I am thinking of writing it in the modern day. Would you be interested in reading that?**

 **P.S. There seems to be a little problem with fanfiction involving cover images not showing up, so I apologize if sometimes the cover picture isn't visible.**


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